She shifts a laundry basket in her arms, bracing it on her hip. “Would you fold these? I need to cancel and reorder items for the Stoke bridal shower next month. I swear Mrs. Stoke is going to drive me to drink with all her changes.”

I take the laundry basket from her and set it on my bed.

“Thank you.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “One more thing. I checked the weather report. Another foot of snow is expected overnight. It’s supposed to stop by six a.m., so hopefully it won’t delay the wedding guests.” Her voice is tight with worry. “I’ll need you to clear the parking lot and the sidewalks before school tomorrow.”

Inwardly, I groan. “Can’t Dad do it? I’m meeting Logan early. We have to talk with Mr. Bartley about an assignment.”

She slumps against the doorjamb. “He strained his back at work today. If he gets laid up and isn’t able to finish the dry-walling job, we’re going to be in trouble. We’re lucky he has the work. I’d do it myself, but I’ll be up all night sewing the curtains for Mrs. Hager’s living room.”

Resigned, I give my standard answer. “I’ll take care of it.” I pick up my alarm clock and set it for 4:00 a.m.—two hours earlier than on days we have no guests. If I’m going to meet Logan at school on time, I’ll need every minute. I look up. “Anything else?”

She hesitates, and just when she’s about to say something, a loud ting from the reception desk bell gets our attention. Her face lights up with her guest smile. She dashes toward the lobby. A few beats later, I hear her guest voice. “Welcome! How can we help you?”

“Our flight’s been canceled. Instead of drivin’ in this mess, we were wonderin’ if you had a couple rooms available with king-size beds?”

“We sure do. Where you folks from?”

Texas, I peg.

“Houston,” the woman says.

I smirk. Grandpa would be proud, I think, and it squeezes my heart. Guessing where a person was from based on their accent was our thing. He was the master. Until I was eight, I was in awe of his accuracy. Then I realized our reservations listed guests’ addresses. When I called him on it, he nailed every walk-in’s place of origin for a month. He loved entertaining guests by doing impressions of actors, presidents, and cartoon characters. Compared to Nana, he barely had a Polish accent. Only when he spoke Polish or shared his childhood stories did Grandpa speak with a heavy lilt.

The conversation at our reception desk regains my attention. “We’ll do whatever we can to make your stay comfortable,” Mom says. “What time do you expect to check out?”

“We’ll have to leave by six to make our flight.”